


By The Practitioner's Hands

by orphan_account



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Post-Break Up, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Reconciliation, Sex Magic, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael wants something he can never get on his own. He asks Aaron Peirsol, his once-upon-a-time lover for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

* * *

“He tastes sweeter,” Michael’s thinks as his tongue explores the depths of Aaron’s mouth. The flavor itself is pure Southern California: all ocean water, sunshine, and Mexican candy. The older swimmer- now long since retired- used to forever taste of chlorine. They finally break apart when breathing becomes an issue and Michael feels his knees go weak when Aaron’s baby blue eyes meet his own. He remembers why he loved this man so desperately oh so many years ago. He remembers the feeling of being in his presence, the energy that radiated off of Aaron in waves.

“Well, hello to you too, Michael” Aaron says in that surfer-dude drawl of his. He asks, “How are you?” even though he already knows the answer.

“I was… uh. There’s some… er, I need….Do you, I mean… are you-” Michael mumbles under his breath, suddenly at a loss for words. He arrived in California having believed that he would show up, knock on the door, and then have it abruptly slammed in his face once Aaron realized it was him. That was the extent of his planning and if Aaron’s smirk is any indicator, he knows just as much as Michael does that the younger swimmer has never been good at making plans. Well, outside of the pool anyways.

“Come inside,” Aaron says, picking up Michael’s hastily packed suitcase and beckoning him inside with a wave of his hand. “I have nosy neighbors,” Aaron explains once the front door is closed and they are standing in the foyer. “Someone sees me kissing a strange man on my porch and the rumor mill pretty much explodes.”

All Michael can think of to say is, “You must kiss a lot of guys on your porch then.”

Aaron’s laughter carries like it always has; a chuckle from deep in his chest that seems to last longer than humanly possible. “No, I don’t, actually” Aaron supplies. “But when a confirmed bachelor moves into a neighborhood full of stay-at-home moms that have nothing better to do than gossip amongst each other and do laundry… Well, I guess I’m more interesting than dirty onesies and matching up tiny pairs of socks.”

He ushers Michael further into the house, past the living room and it’s giant screen television and into the kitchen, leaving Michael’s suitcase in the foyer. A granite topped bar separates the kitchen from a cozy little breakfast nook and that is where Aaron and Michael sit down to further discuss what has brought Michael to California.

“Would you like some tea? Coffee perhaps?” Aaron asks, ever the gracious host.

Michael shakes his head, says “I would but I’m not here for tea.”

“Straight to the point then,” Aaron nods decisively. “You want to know if I still practice it. That’s why you’re here. And I know that swimming isn’t the _‘it’_ you’re referring to.”

“Uh, yeah, I am.” Michael admits, then asks, “How did you know?”

“C’mon, Michael, you know what I am” Aaron utters proudly. “After that kiss I pretty much know everything. Transference, you see. Also, it is my very nature to know everything…. or have you forgotten that along with your toothbrush, which is still in Baltimore by the way.”

“Damn it,” Michael mumbles to himself, “I knew I was missing something.”

“Focus, Michael,” Aaron says as he snaps his fingers in front of Michael’s face in the way some school teacher might do if a student fell asleep during class. “All you have to do is tell me what you want and I’ll do my best to help you. You are, after all, and will always be, my first love.”

“I want to, uh…. have a baby,” Michael says.

“You don’t need me to do that,” Aaron replies. “Any woman from here to Maryland could help you with that.”

“I know that,” Michael responds, offended that Aaron would speak to him as if he were a child. “That’s not what I want.”

“I understand that, Michael,” Aaron states in a calm voice. “I don’t mean to belittle you, but this will only work if you will give me a clear and decisive explanation of what you want.”

“Okay,” Michael nods, says, “Aaron, I want to have a baby. Not just get some girl pregnant but actually conceive and give birth to my own child. A child that is completely mine and that no one can ever take away from me.”

“And you wish to call upon my skills to achieve this?” Aaron queries.

“Yes, I do,” Michael intones seriously.

“Then let’s make this official,” Aaron says. He reaches across the little table and takes Michael’s slightly larger hands into his own and begins to speak, his very voice making the air between them crackle with energy. “Do you, Michael Phelps, ask that I, Aaron Peirsol, invoke the powers bestowed upon me to hereby conjure and cast both spell and potion and to call upon olde magicks of blood and spirit to give you a child in your image of whom such a child shall never be taken from thee? Is this the task you ask of me?”

Michael nods, “Yes it is.”

“Okay,” Aaron says. He huffs out a breath, squeezes Michael’s hands and continues by saying, “I have to warn you though…. this last part is gonna hurt a little so prepare yourself.”

“Okay,” Michael nods, steels his nerves to prepare for the pain.

Aaron’s voice takes on that unearthly tone once again as he says, “As it has been asked so it shall be done.”

Michael hears someone screaming in pure agony in the distance. As his whole world fades to black he realizes the person screaming is him.


	2. The Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron helps Michael take the next step in bearing the child he so desperately wants.

* * *

Michael wakes to find himself lying in the center of what he assumes is Aaron’s king size bed. He shifts a bit and discovers that he is quite thoroughly ensconced in a plush down comforter the color of beach sand. It reminds Michael of when he was little and had trouble falling asleep at night. He remembers how his mother would wrap him up in one of the quilts she kept in the cedar hope chest at the end of her bed- the ones that smelled so crisp and clean like the forest on a sunny day- and lead him through the relaxation exercises they did every night. Deb called it “making a Michael burrito.”

“Awake at last, I see.” Aaron says from where he’s leaning in the doorway, startling Michael out of his own musings. He’s wearing an old Ramones band tee and black basketball shorts. “It’s been almost a whole day. I didn’t expect you to be out that long.”

“Do you always have to do that?” Michael gripes from within his blanket cocoon.

“Do what?” Aaron asks with a smirk as he comes to sit beside Michael on the bed.

“That sneaky, no-noise-making thing you do when you walk into a room,” Michael replies. “I swear, it’s like you’re not there and then, _Bam!_ There’s Aaron! Even after all these years it still creeps out.”

“I’ll try to clomp around more but I can’t make any promises,” Aaron says. “Mine are a particularly ninja-like people.”

“Ninja-like?” Michael quirks an eyebrow. “I didn’t know witches were ninja-like.”

“I’m not a witch, Michael,” Aaron says in a lecturing tone. “Witches are female and I am quite obviously not a woman.”

“So what are you then?” Michael asks. “Is there, like, some politically correct term for guys that do what you do?”

“Yes, there actually is,” Aaron answers. “We are called Practitioners with a capital ‘P.’ It’s a proper noun while the word witch is not.”

Michael snuggles deeper into his blanket, asks, “So what’s the difference between a witch and a Practitioner… other than the whole having a penis thing?”

“It has to do with the flow of magic,” Aaron explains. “You see, Michael, magic is in everything. It’s in every atom in the known universe. The thing is, witches can only manipulate the magic in things. They can direct it here or there for a short amount of time but eventually it bounces back to where it was originally. Practitioners can actually change magic permanently. We can take it from one place and put it somewhere else and it will stay there forever. That’s where we get our names from because we literally have _practice_ at what we do in order for it work. A witch can just say a few words and snap her fingers and be done with it. A Practitioner has to perfect his control over all the magic surrounding him to be successful. Women just don’t have the strength to do that; the magic overwhelms them and it drives them insane.”

“What about potions?” Michael asks. “Witches brew potions just like you do, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do, but there is a difference,” Aaron answers. “A witch’s potion is like an Aspirin and a Practitioner’s potion is like open-heart surgery. One actually fixes the problem while the other just temporarily eases the pain.”

“I understand, kinda,” Michael says, nodding a bit before sighing. “I’m not sure about everything you said but I trust you.”

Aaron reaches out, rubs the pad of his thumb over the smooth skin of Michael’s forehead. “You don’t have to understand it for it to work, Michael. And trust me, it will work. In fact, we should check how it’s coming along.”

“How are we gonna do that?” Michael asks warily, remembering the pain from earlier.

“If you’ll emerge from your duvet chrysalis I’ll show you.” Aaron snarks, then begins unwrapping Michael from the blanket. “Look, Michael,” Peter nods in approval, placing a hand on the other man’s abdomen. “The spell is working.”

Michael looks down and sees…. well, at first he’s not sure. Then he looks closer. “Is that really?” He whispers in an awed voice. “I mean, am I actually…? It’s really in there?”

“Yeah,” Aaron smiles brightly. He takes Michael's hand and places it over his own on Michael’s stomach which is now rounded out with the weight of burgeoning pregnancy. “That’s a baby, Michael. That’s _your_ baby.”

Michael feels the tears start to run down his face and he can’t help himself.

He leans forward and catches Aaron’s lips in a passionate kiss.


End file.
